


Six Feet of Frost

by hikash0



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Death, Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikash0/pseuds/hikash0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamie's time is over but time stops for Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been seventy-three years.

Seventy-three years since the dazzling feeling had hit him, nearly made him sob with relief, nearly made him die from joy. So long a time and yet it seemed cruelly brief when he pitted it against all the time he still had left. How many millennia would he see pass, empty of the boy who had first dared to believe in him? How many children would be born between now and the end of time, unable to see him because they did not share in the same magic, because their lives had no room for fun, because they would not, could not, try as hard as the small boy having a heart to heart with a stuffed rabbit once had?

Jack turned on his side; around him the wasted plains of the South Pole crackled with the frigidity of his grief. Melancholy called forward cloud fronts, swirling brushstrokes of grey and white stabbed quickly through the atmosphere, murdering all blue in the same way that he wished to murder time, to murder mortality and its fleeting nature.

Jack had known, having seen many deaths within the span of nearly four centuries. He had been on edge, frantic, rarely leaving Burgess. The scientists and environmentalists in other parts of the world had made a fuss about the lateness of winter, and while North had hounded him to do his duties as a guardian, it had been only once and softly, without real weight behind the words. Tooth and Sandy afforded him tentative hugs, and sometimes, gold infused dreams, though he slept little in the final days. Aster simply looked at Jack with hollow eyes, communicating without words. He knew what it was like to feel the bite of absence, to watch a mortal close to the heart as they withered.

Sophie had not outlived her brother.

Jamie had asked to be taken outside one grey day no more than a week ago. There he had faded silently with a smile on his wrinkled face, fingers tracing shaky swirls in the frost on the back of Jack's unseen hand.

Seventy-three years and then some - Jamie had lived a good life, a joyous life, a life that had given Jack meaning in an eternity of purposelessness - all summed up in an hour long service. He had very nearly screamed then and there, nearly called down a tempest of ice and rage to bury, tear at, and reject the finality of it all. Instead he'd taken off like a coward, sending sleet and hail crashing in his wake, burying the world beneath him with everything he could not bear to feel.

But Jack felt it nonetheless, oh god how he felt it now.

He writhed in the snow, curled tighter into his knees, wished away the choking sensation creaking in his bones. He held his breath, stifling the roar that was want to erupt and literally tear his heart from his chest, rending it, mangling it and making a mess of his insides. Through rivulets of solidified tears Jack spotted a sliver of clear sky, the clouds around it darkening by the moment. The moon hovered in the unblemished space, silently, always stoic, like some damn secret keeper. Jack twitched as a moonbeam hit him, stroked his face in a way that elicited nothing less than insanity from the eternal boy. Jack lost it. His desperately crafted control unraveling like a nicked sweater.

"DON'T YOU TOUCH ME!" he shrieked with the fury of a thousand winds. Jack flung himself to his feet, gathered every ounce of anguish he could muster and whirled his staff in circles high above his head. The tempest came now, swirling dark and furious, hail and snow plummeting from the sky, heavy like stone tears.

Jack staggered. He ached, sick with the memory of Jamie. He needed to be rid of it. He needed to expel the chaos within him until the depths of his soul became empty. He must, lest his immortal heart break. Jack forced all he felt into his staff until the gnarled wood was straining with magic and emotion, crackling, fit to snap. Jack whipped his staff in a wide arc, scraping through tundra and pulling up asymmetric spears all around his feet. Jack targeted the moon, creating a raging wave of sharpened, bitter ice, of grief, pain, and exhaustion before sending it careening towards the opening in the clouds. He wanted to massacre the moon, he wanted to deface the sky, he wanted to chase down death with frost and wrest Jamie from under its power.

He followed his assault with a feral scream, the howl of a maddened wolf. Snow filled his mouth as the blizzard raged, the mountains groaned in dismayed protests and the clouds swallowed the moon before the ice could.

He wailed. The cry blew over the vastness of the Antarctic before being muted, swept up, and erased by the ice and wind.

Forlorn. Alone. Sad, _sad,_ _ **sad.**_

Jack teetered, drained of everything, hollowed out, his body the same as brittle ice. He fell away, backwards, sinking into the powder, eyes frozen over by tears that would not cease. Jack stared blankly upwards, wishing that his body too could die and rot. Silently he lay, still and motionless as a corps, as still as Jamie's corpse. Jack let the storm cover him, layer by layer, for hours, days, and months until Jack lost any notion of time. Until his consciousness was muffled beneath 183 centimeters of frozen white, crystalline snow. Snow as hollow and dead-like as the empty guardian housed within its frost-riddled embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack just wants to sleep. Won't someone stop that yelling?

There was a tapping.

A tapping and a scraping and it sounded close. His eyes flickered behind his lashes and he clenched his teeth. He wanted the sound to go away. 

It was getting closer.

It was the sound of hands on cold things and the peeling of skin, the jamming and splintering of nail beds against solidity. It was the raking of fingers through gravel, or dirt, or something else. 

Go away.

Go away.

Go away.

He wanted to be left alone. Wanted to be left where he was, he was happy here. It was suffocating and it squeezed down on him with hundreds of pounds of pressure, but he was so content. This must be what it felt like, he thought. This must be the same. He wanted it to feel the same, to be the same. And he wanted to stay like this forever. To push the limits, test them just to see, to make absolutely sure that he couldn't do it a second time.

That he couldn't die again.

The sounds were changing and he willed himself deeper, further down, rocking his shoulder blades from side to side, burrowing into sharp crystals of yielding cold that dug into his back. He tried to mash himself deeper and deeper into permafrost. But the sound was catching up to him and now he could make out panting, labored breathing, and the occasional curse word curled around lips and hissed through teeth.

He willed the ice around him thicker, more solid, willed it to become like a diamond tomb. The cursing grew louder and more savage and now there were hunks of snow being quickly gouged away. He could hear the tomb crumbling, could see dark shadows through the thin remaining layer.

Go away. 

Go away.

Go away.

"You damned insufferable pest! You lousy, blasted, ignorant, stupid child!"

He scrunched shut his eyes, trying to block it out, trying to get away. Why couldn't they just leave him? They had left him alone for so long and now he was ready to stop fighting it. Why couldn't they just let him be? Let him follow after the one person who had seen him, had believed in him. Why couldn't they let him crush himself down to oblivion until there was less than nothing. Why couldn't they—

"FROST, I WILL SKIN YOU IF YOU DON'T COME OUT!" 

He opened his eyes at the voice and in that moment it all shattered. His tomb, his protective shield of ice, it was being broken through, it was cracking, it was—

Gnarled fingers shot through the scar in the ice and clamped now on his throat. The snow around them caved and the vicious pull of them nearly severed his head from his body as he was wrenched upwards. Startling white blinded him and he gasped at the wind that chafed his face. He blinked, flakes of ice falling from his lashes and sticking to his cheeks. The hand around his neck twitched, fingers tightening once, and then released him. Jack dropped to his knees and felt the harsh coldness of the Antarctic wind rush into his lungs as he sucked down a breath. The hem of a dark robe, crusted with ice, crackled as its owner moved in on him. Jack sensed the aggression before it came and he rolled to the side, swiftly avoiding a kick that would have caught the side of his face. Talking was hard, his mouth was numb and his vocals were unused. 

“What’s your problem?”

He looked up to find the yellow of Pitch’s eyes closer than he anticipated. They widened at his words and then quickly narrowed to slits. Jack rolled again, this time to avoid a fist. He was too slow and it caught him under the jaw, sending his teeth crashing together. Coldness against his spine told him he was sprawled on his back. He opened bleary eyes and stared. The sky was so blue. Then it was black. Pitch stood over him, an expression of complete contempt rippling across his features. It started at the corner of his eyes and traveled down the length of his nose to finish at his curled snarl.

“My problem? My problem is lying prone at my feet.”

Pitch grit his teeth and reached down. Jack didn’t resist as he was dragged up for the second time in as many minutes. Normally he would never have stood for it, would have fought and kicked up a big fuss before sending Pitch crawling back into the dark for another 20 years. But now he was just tired. He wanted to get this over with, taking whatever drama Pitch felt like throwing his way. Afterwards he wanted some uninterrupted time to try his hand at dying. His lips felt chapped and Jack licked them boredly. The moisture froze as soon as it touched them and Jack enjoyed the feel of his skin freezing, fusing together, sealed shut with ice. He pulled and opened his mouth in an ‘O’ shape. He tasted blood for a moment before it froze. Pitch’s fingers twitched again at the collar of his hoodie and something close to unease flitted across his face.

“You’re acting strange, Frost.”

Jack didn’t reply, instead his eyes wandered sideways and he fixed a speck of white far in the distance. He was bored, this wasn’t any fun. Pitch pressed on.  
“Just what were you trying to do? How long have you been here? I just had the wrath of four pompous guardians visited upon me, they thought I had something to do with you disappearing.”

It must have been a while if the Guardians had noticed, maybe a few months of him consistently skipping out of meetings. Even longer if they had decided to lower themselves and go to Pitch for an answer.

“Jack.”

He tore his eyes away from the blankness of the horizon. Pitch was frowning. Jack felt a laugh building, it stretched its way around inside him until it found shape…and then it decided to die. A cough came out of him instead.

“Just testing the limits. I don't know, however long ago Jamie’s funeral was.”

“What do you mean, ‘testing the limits’?”

Jack rolled his eyes, Pitch was playing oblivious.

“Trying to fade, vanish, die. Whatever other words there are for ‘to disappear’. You know at least that much don’t you? And here I thought you were so well read.”

Pitch bristled, his body going stiff and straight and still, his posture even more rigid. When he next spoke there was a tremble to his voice that Jack knew well, the tremble of rage. It made him want to roll his eyes again, but the past 4 decades had taught him a bit of delicacy, especially when it came to being ‘civil’ with Pitch. 

“You want to what.”

Jack sighed and cocked his head, his lids felt heavy and there was a coldness growing inside of him, one that even he could feel. He knew he was acting strangely. He knew he was speaking out of character, out of center. But he wasn’t having fun and he didn’t feel like being fun, or talking fun for that matter. Pitch was exasperating and the coldness inside of Jack was starting to bite.

“I want to disappear, Pitch.” Pitch inhaled sharply and Jack continued because he didn’t really care about Pitch’s melodrama at the moment. “I doubt I can do it, the whole immortal thing makes that hard, but I’m sure if I just lie there for long enough, I’ll get close, besides—”

“Jack, shut up.”

“—it’s not such a big deal for me to take a prolonged vacation, winter comes without me, I just make it a little less boring, you know? Add a little bit of mischief to the dreary white days. It’s like the trimmings on a box, nice but not all that necess—”

“You will shut up. You will shut up now or so help me—”

“I’m tired Pitch. I’m tired and I’m cold.”

That meant something to Pitch and Jack could tell. The way his chest contracted with another breath and how his eyes shifted around, as if looking for someone to take responsibility. Jack imagined that if he held a hand to Pitch’s chest he would feel the bones positively creaking with frustration.

“How…”

Pitch paused, seeming unsure. He cast around for the words while Jack began counting the cracks in Pitch’s unkempt nails.

“How long have you been neglecting your duties for Jamie?”

Jack felt the joints in his neck roll as he dragged his gaze to meet Pitch’s once more. It had been a while, since Jamie had started to become forgetful. Maybe two years, maybe three. He’d kept going to the Guardian’s meetings, didn’t want to become a source of worry for the rest of the gang. He’d visited Pitch once or twice during that time too.

“Jack, how long?”

“Few years maybe.”

Pitch released him immediately and ran a clawed hand through his hair. Jack allowed himself to drop, now he was sitting in the snow, his feet stung. It was weird. 

“You are an utter fool!”

“What else is new?”

Pitch made a sound of frustration deep in his throat.

“No, you are an utter, complete fool! What do you think has been happening? You’re cold. YOU are cold, think about that for a minute Jack, think about what that means. When Jack Frost is cold.”

Jack blinked slowly. This was boring. He was sleepy.

“You’re a Guardian now, you need believers. What, pray tell, is the logical course of action for a Guardian who relies on believers for survival? Answer me that one.”

“I choose C. C is always the right one. Multiple choice? C. Long answer? C. Always C.”

“Jack! You need to keep your believers! You can’t just vanish for a ‘few years’!”

Jack closed his eyes and leant back. The chill and wetness of the slush soaked into his clothes and made him shiver. He’d put up with enough from Pitch now. It was time to sleep. 

_Jack,_

_Jack!_

_Don’t you ignore me! Don’t you—Jack wake up!_

The cold crept into his bones and he sunk down with a deep sigh, finally able to ignore that aggravating voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And almost (*counts on fingers) five months later, we have a second chapter! Thanks to LoveNewFantasy for reminding me that this fic needed some attention! Not exactly sure where I'm going from here but I'll plot some things out and have the next chapter up sooner rather than later.

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's some sad for you. This was posted a while ago on ff.net and originally meant to be a oneshot, but we all know how things never stay oneshots don't we? 
> 
> I have some things brewing for another chapter and the tags will change to suit that. The rating may also go up. Or maybe not, maybe I'll write fluff for once...yeahhh sure...we'll see how that goes when I get to writing it.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
